On The Basis Of Fiction

Where do we see our true selves?

In the reflection of a mirror 

That often tells us lies.

Or maybe in those around us,

Those who support and care,

But still are not the same.

Our true selves are present in our passion,

The things we think about all day,

The things that keep us up all night.

The indescribable feeling of a page

Slipping between my fingers,

The other side patiently waiting 

For my hungry eyes.

The colonization of my thoughts,

By someone I don’t even know.

Someone who has mastered the ability

To create a new world with their own rules.

Something, I imagine, we all wish we could do.

The unpredictability evokes a desire within me

To fashion my own self in its image.

To become a person who does not belong to anyone

But myself. 

The words and language challenge me

To reach farther and think differently,

Because we only get to see so little an amount of the world.

These sentences introduce me to hundreds

Of people, hundreds of experiences, and hundreds of perspectives.

The perspectives allow me 

To be a better person, 

Consider others in my decisions and actions.

The respect for the minds 

That take so long to produce masterpieces 

For people they have no personal attachment to.

Thankfulness for the opportunity

That enables me to escape harsh realities.

Thankfulness for the knowledge

That has bred my love for the written word.

Thankfulness for finding my passion,

Therefore finding my true self,

Something many never achieve.